he grabbed his clothes and started putting them on as quickly as he’d torn them off.
“Hell no, I don’t want any coffee, Catherine. I couldn’t possibly want anything more from you other than the fucking we just had.”
The word was rude, but no ruder than she’d been with him.
“Okay, then,” she said, and turned and walked into the bathroom.
When she came out, she paused in the middle of her bedroom, listening to the silence, and knew he was gone. But when she glanced toward the bed, her heart slammed against her chest with a hard, painful thud. She stared until her vision blurred and her throat was thick with tears. Taking a deep breath, she leaned over and picked up the money he’d thrown on her mattress.
A hundred dollars—in twenties.
She didn’t know what the going rate for a whore might be, but he’d made his point.
“Damn you,” she muttered, then drew a slow, shuddering breath, refusing to admit that he’d gotten to her.
Angry with herself, she threw the money into a drawer and then dragged her suitcase from under the bed and finished packing. Her steps were slow as she headed for her office to check her laptop. The blip was motionless, which was good, but according to the map on the screen, it was in the middle of nowhere.
Too tired and too hurt to think about it anymore tonight, she shut the laptop and took it back to her room. Within minutes, she was in bed, with the alarm set for six o’clock. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to sleep, but it was useless. She couldn’t forget the hurt she’d seen on Wilson’s face or the fact that she was the one who’d put it there. Then she rolled over on her side, thumped her pillow angrily and, with a skill she’d honed over years of disappointment and despair, blanked everything from her mind and went to sleep.
Two
Still reeling from Cat’s rejection, Wilson went straight from her apartment to the office. By daybreak, he had a good lead on Paulie Beach, one of his bonds who’d failed to appear, and was packing to go get him. As always, he wore a bulletproof vest under his shirt and his badge on a chain around his neck. There was a can of mace in one pocket of his coat, a Taser in the other, a pair of handcuffs clipped onto the back of his belt and his handgun in a shoulder holster.
Beach had been arrested for B & E—breaking and entering—his third strike for the same offense. That should have been a warning to Wilson, when he’d agreed to bond him out, that Paulie wasn’t the type of man who learned from his mistakes.
Wilson grabbed the file he had on Beach and was walking out of the office as his secretary, LaQueen Baldwin, was coming in.
LaQueen was six feet and two-hundred pounds of Jamaican beauty, and had an opinion about everything, including Wilson’s single state. She had worked for him for four years, was the best secretary he’d ever had and reminded him of that fact on a daily basis.
Even though he never talked about his personal business, she knew all about his fascination with Cat Dupree. She knew when they’d been iced in together during Christmas and when he’d taken off to West Texas in the middle of the night to help Cat after she had discovered her best friend Marsha Benton’s body. She knew when Wilson followed Cat Dupree to Mexico to aid her in catching Marsha’s killer, and, after one look at his face this morning, she knew Wilson McKay was not in a good mood, and she promptly attributed it to Cat.
“Good morning to you,” she said briskly, as he held the door back for her to enter.
“Yeah, it’s a doozy,” he muttered, as he pointed to her desk. “I left you a note.”
LaQueen glanced toward her desk, then back at Wilson.
“Yes. I see that. However…since you are still here, and since I have arrived at this marvelous establishment to devote the next eight hours of my life to it and to you, you may tell me in person just where it is you might be going.”
Wilson caught the tone of her voice and realized he’d pushed one of LaQueen’s buttons, which figured. During the past twenty-four hours, he hadn’t gotten much of anything right with women.
“Paulie Beach was a no-show at court a couple of days ago, and the phone numbers I had on him are disconnects. His mother’s going to lose her house unless I can find the bastard. She cried for ten minutes before finally admitting she might know where he’d gone. I’m going to go get him.”
LaQueen’s lips parted into a smile. She nodded approvingly as she patted him on the arm.
“Ummm…that is good! You go find that sorry excuse for a son and lock him up. His momma hurt enough when she gave birth to him. She don’t deserve to lose her home over the pain he’s causing her now.”
Wilson grinned in spite of himself. LaQueen did have a way with words.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “Sorry if I was abrupt.”
LaQueen arched an eyebrow. “So. Is that what they are calling it these days?”
Wilson’s smile slipped. “Calling what?”
“You called it abrupt. I call it a bad night with a woman.”
Wilson snorted lightly. “Am I that transparent?”
LaQueen frowned. His pride was damaged. She didn’t intend to make it worse.
“If you might be going past a deli on your way back to the office, I would appreciate a bite of something sweet.”
Wilson grinned in spite of himself. “A sweet for a sweet lady…hmm, yes, I think I can do that.”
LaQueen nodded, then gave him a royal wave as she sailed past him toward her desk.
“Be off with you then. You’re letting in the cold air.”
Wilson’s grin widened as he pushed the door shut, then headed for his SUV. She was maddening, but she really was the best damned secretary he’d ever had.
Paulie Beach was a user. He used people and drugs and situations to slide through life with as little effort as possible. For the second time in his life of crime, his mother had put her home up as collateral to bond him out of jail. Only this time, he’d skipped out on his court date, knowing full well that he would be on his way to prison again if he showed. It bothered him some that his mother was in a bind, but so was he. He couldn’t afford to go back to lockup. He’d left too many enemies behind.
Wilson pulled around behind the Western Trails Motel and parked. According to Paulie’s mother, who’d finally decided her son wasn’t worth losing her home for, he’d called her from here the night before last. Wilson didn’t know if he was still in residence, but he was going to find out soon enough.
He got out and headed for the office. The woman behind the counter glanced up as he walked in, then stood a little straighter when she got a better look.
“Need a room?” she asked, and fingered a loose bleached-yellow curl.
He flashed his badge. “I’m looking for Paulie Beach. Is he still in room 216?”
Her
